Two days before Mother’s Day and I did something really dumb. Fussypants asked me this morning if I could walk him into class today, because he had a gift for me. I said sure, and he said, no I mean really walk into my classroom, come all the way in. I have a surprise.

So I did and was given a brightly decorated for me, by my son, bag. His teacher told me to be careful with it, because what was inside was breakable. My son, beaming, gave me a kiss and said Happy Mother’s Day Mama!

With a full heart and a big smile, I tenderly carried it to the car. Little Miss had chosen this morning to accessorize with all her princess bling, and as I was getting her into her car seat , she dropped a bracelet and ring into the street. I set my precious gift on top of the mommy buggy, picked up the dropped jewels, secured Little Miss into her car seat and promptly drove away.

Because I was in front of the school I was not driving very fast but it was fast enough to fling my beautiful Mother’s Day present crashing to the ground. My gift, made for me by my son, which I hadn’t even opened yet. I heard it happen, stopped and retrieved it. As soon as I picked it up I knew it was broken.

My heart has hurt all day. And I’ve shed some tears. But I am married to a man who keeps a well-stocked garage so I am confident there is super glue in there somewhere that may fix this beautiful art. I am not confident that it will work but I have to try. I don’t even know how to tell my son I broke this.

So Happy Mother’s Day to all you Mamas. Hug your precious gifts close.

Have you ever had that moment when everything feels just right? Lately I have. My life feels right. I have my beautiful boy and girl, my husband and I are in sync, we’ve got this two kids thing down. I’m working hard on making one on one time with my husband, balancing being a mother with being a wife. I’m getting into shape, finding my niche with running and have even started trail running. I’ve purged the baby stuff; the maternity clothes, books, car seat, even the bjorn. We are a family of four, complete, done. When my brother had a baby this past summer, I was a little worried that I’d want another one, that I’d get that tug in my heart, and the butterflies in my tummy, but no. I snuggled and held my nephew for eight hours but when I had to go, there was no longing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a baby person. I love babies, especially newborns, but I’m done. It feels right.

That said…I’m pregnant.

I’m 41, and I recently joked that I’d only have a third child if I were younger and sprouted an extra pair of arms. I swore the only reason I’d get pregnant again was if I could surrogate for my friend. I don’t know how this happened. Well, I do know, of course. I’m well-versed in the birds and the bees. And I’m fairly certain the sexy queen bee costume and that extra glass of wine at that Halloween party probably helped. But I don’t know how getting pregnant without help from our fertility doctor happened to us. For 10 years my husband and I didn’t practice safe sex and we didn’t get pregnant. Didn’t even have a scare. When we were actually trying to start a family, we never got pregnant on our own. All three of our pregnancies (we miscarried before we had Fussypants) were helped along. And yet, I’m pregnant. just. like. that.

When I first realized I missed my period, pregnancy wasn’t my go-to thought. I went to webmd and looked up menopause. I did. But when the only symptom I had was a missed period, I got a pregnancy test. When the word pregnant emerged I burst into tears. I was at work. And the tears were not of joy. I spent the first two days in shock and denial and a part of me is still cowering in that room. My husband was the first and the last person I wanted to tell, he was at work and when I called him, it wasn’t a good time for him to talk. I made an appointment with my ob/gyn to have blood work done the next day to confirm and then waited. Not being in the fertility loop means answers are not instantaneous. I had to wait another day to get the results. My HCG and progesterone were lower than they should be for as far along as I thought I was so my doctor sent me to have an ultrasound, to make sure it wasn’t an etopic pregnancy. Everything looked fine at the ultrasound but the baby was small and they could not detect a heartbeat. My doctor was not overly concerned; she said I was probably not as far along as I thought I was. Then she said that it could also be that the baby wasn’t developing right. The difference in those two things is as vast as the ocean.

And admitting this is difficult but part of me felt relieved that this pregnancy might not be viable. Which caused another round of tears, it makes me cry now, thinking about it. How could I, a mother and a big-hearted person, feel relief that the baby might not be ok? A baby that could be as wonderful and beautiful as my son and daughter? How could I feel anything other than concern? After everything we went through ourselves, after everything some of my friends are going through now, I know that babies are a gift from God and that pregnancy is fragile and precious. But I never thought I’d be pregnant again, and part of me isn’t sure I want to be.

But I am.

When I told my husband how I felt, and what a horrible person I was for feeling that way, he told me to go look at our children’s faces and see the proof that I am not a horrible person. I needed to hear that.

Tomorrow I take another blood test and will probably have another ultrasound later this week. I should have answers by Wednesday. And as much as I don’t want to be pregnant, I do want this baby that I never imagined having to be ok and if it is, then we’ll look at it as a bonus, not a whoops.

But no matter what happens, whether we stay a family of four or blossom into a family of five, our family will be just right.

Rather than a joyous one of those days moments I’m having a weepy mommy moment.

Less than an hour after I arrived at work, I got a call from my children’s school informing me that “while changing her diaper, Teacher Ms X thought Little Miss felt warm. She’s running a temperature of 101, so please come and get her.”

In itself, this isn’t a big issue, aside from the fact that you never want your children to be ill. My boss is more than flexible and babies in daycare/preschool environments are susceptible to a variety of germs because everything goes in their mouth but I have received this call five times in the last three weeks.

Little Miss weathered a double ear infection, pink eye, RSV, another ear infection and now whatever this fever represents. She is only 10 months old.

As a mom, I am kicking myself for taking her to the Kings game on Monday night. Although she was bundled up snug as a love bug, maybe it wasn’t enough.

As a mom, I am kicking myself for not noticing that she was warm when I got her dressed for school this morning, carried her into school this morning, and kissed her goodbye at school this morning.

As a mom, I am feeling guilty for having to hide from Fussypants when I picked up his sister because he was just getting out of Chapel (which is directly across from the infant/toddler room) and if he had seen me, he would have wanted to go home too.

As a mom, I am feeling guilty for having to leave my sick babe with her Nana (husband wasn’t home yet) because I have a meeting I cannot reschedule at work.

So there it is, today I am feeling crappy that I work.

Which is not a fair thing to do to myself. I long ago came to terms with the fact that I am a working mother.

I don’t straddle the line.

I am a mom.

I have a career.

I make it work.

You can read more about that here. But today I am having a weepy mommy moment because I didn’t notice my baby girl was ill, I want to be home with her but instead have to be in the office.

And the universe must agree because when I dropped her off at my mom’s house, I stepped in dog poop.